


December

by Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Murder, holiday fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone/pseuds/Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone
Summary: Pepper and Rhodey convinced you of accepting getting married to Bucky so he wouldn’t be punished by what The Winter Soldier did under HYDRA’s control by saying that’s what your dad would’ve wanted. This is how the month of December goes for both of you.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes/Plus Size Reader, Bucky Barnes/Reader, Bucky Barnes/Stark!Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 61





	December

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at @youwerenevermeanttofeelalone, requests are always open.

Christmas time had once been happy and colorful, magical and joyful. Tony would go all out with the decorations, songs and carols would play around the entire house, he’d build gifts for everyone and try to bake cookies even though he sucked at it. Tony wasn’t there anymore, with him many things had vanished— you would have given them all and so much more to have him back, so your sister would get to grow up with her dad, so you wouldn’t hate the holidays, so Pepper could be happy, so James would get what he truly deserved from whom should be there to forgive him. 

Speaking about James, you hadn’t seen him much since the beginning of the month. It was for the best for both, an arranged marriage of course wasn’t ideal for anyone but you were mourning your dad still, and he was trying to get to know himself and gain agency— you hoped thing would get better. 

The house was too big for you two, most rooms weren’t even used. You only entered the kitchen, the laboratory, and your bedroom, he’d enter the kitchen, the library, and his bedroom. The living room hadn’t been used yet, no visitors had been received in the few weeks you had been married. You weren’t even sure you’d decorate the house for Christmas, the press would talk but they always did either way. 

Homesickness had always been a funny term for you, home had never been a place. Home was laughing with Peter, bickering with Harley, spending time in the lab with Tony, gossiping with Happy, bonding with Pepper, joking around with Rhodey, getting to know Morgan. Home broke when your dad died, and no matter how hard you tried to act like it could be glued back together, a big chunk of the puzzle had been lost and couldn’t be had back. 

You wondered what home meant to your husband. If like you he considered his friends to be home, or if he still considered his family home even though so many years had passed. The spurs of empathy and curiousness you got out of nowhere in his direction didn’t surprise you, but you didn’t know if they were out of line. 

It didn’t matter, you never told him anything— you didn’t think it was appropriate, and you felt extremely confused regarding a lot of things. You didn’t know him, he didn’t know you— you both had heard about the other because of mutual acquaintances and what the press and history books said respectively. You were living with, and married to, a stranger for whom you had a soft spot because your dad would’ve had it too. 

Bucky checked every room out of habit as soon as he got to the house, not physically tired yet mentally burned out. He was aware that you weren’t asleep, he actually was concerned about how much time you spent entrenched in the laboratory. The kitchen was as immaculate as every single night, there was a note on the refrigerator door that said you had left dinner for him in a container— you always did that, he didn’t know why, but he appreciated it. 

Despite how delicious the meal looked, he skipped it. He didn’t feel worthy of it, especially not that day. Letting the lights turn themselves off, he ventured further into the house, he didn’t deserve to get to live there either. He didn’t deserve anything you were doing for him— he had asked why before, and your answer had surprised him so much he didn’t dare fight you on it. You had been too nice, too kind— Sam had said you had always been like that, he believed it, he simply didn’t think he should be the target of it. 

He went to bed that night with that weight on his shoulders, the sleeping pills didn’t work on him due to the serum so he didn’t even try to take them. You had offered to find a solution, to patent a proper composition that’d have an effect in his brain. He had told you it was okay, that the therapy was enough. He wasn’t sure you had believed him, but you never pressed on subjects. 

It frustrated him sometimes how patient you were, you never forced him to talk or to go places he didn’t want to, you never complained about the noise his arm made even though with how empty the house was everything echoed around the entire property, the few instances you had both arrived at the same time you hadn’t thought he was paranoid when he told you to wait outside while he checked everything was okay inside. 

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

You watched him carefully, concerned to no end. Sam had texted you earlier, asking if you had fought with your husband. You hadn’t, you two didn’t even speak much. James didn’t acknowledge you, no matter how little you blinked, no matter how hard you stared. 

One thing was him being reserved, other him being so distant Sam was worried. It was clear he wasn’t taking care of himself, you saw it in the bags under his eyes and the amount of food he left untouched, you had heard him pace his room way too late— or too early, who were you to judge?— and you could feel the anguish irradiating off him. 

Theories, one worse than the other came to your mind. December was a tough month, he had lost a lot, he was new to a fair amount of things, he was in an unfamiliar house with a stranger, he had responsibilities on his shoulders as an avenger...

Intuition, it truly never failed you. Even in death, Tony was right, even in death his reminders to always trust what he lightheartedly called your superpower resonated in your head, seeping into every ventricle of your heart the hardest you thought about it, only making you miss him more. But you could put it to the side, at least for now, to follow the other thing your dad reminded you the most, not with only words but with his actions: give people your best efforts.

“James?” you timidly spoke to keep both of you from wincing. It often happened, after prolonged moments of silence your voices would bounce against the walls and the two of you either winced or jumped. 

He sat up straight, “is there something wrong?” 

“Not with me,” you assured, walking closer to where he was. “Are you okay?”

You heard him swallow saliva before he nodded. Still, he didn’t verbally confirm it. He had never been uncomfortable under someone’s gaze, at least he didn’t remember an instance where it had happened— then again he couldn’t be sure. His bloodshot eyes found yours, tired blue orbs fixed on sad (e/c) ones. 

“It’s December.” That was all he said. 

With a light sigh, you sat down on the couch in front of the reading chairs. “I know...” you trailed off for a moment, not sure asking would be a good idea. James put the book he had been reading to the side, letting it down on the coffee table although his eyes never left yours. 

“I—“ he shook his head, “do you—“ words weren’t enough, questions would fall short. He couldn’t say it, discussing things meant they were real, it was too much to be real. The guilt felt heavier every time he was in your presence, and he knew he deserved it even though you had once said it wasn’t his fault. He was failing you by feeling so bad, it was tearing him apart— he couldn’t do anything right, part of his mind swarmed with thoughts and ideas as the other yelled at him for focusing on something else.

The signs were there, his shaky hand, the harshness of his breath, how his gaze became more distant as the seconds passed. You moved quickly, squatting down once you were in front of him, placing a hand on the arm of the chair to steady yourself as you worriedly looked at him. “James,” you murmured, “follow my breathing, okay?”

He did his best, more stressed out now that you looked so concerned. Everyone he knew had told him the marriage would be beneficial for him, that he deserved someone like you— he didn’t think so, and it didn’t matter. What did matter, however, was how confusing your worry was. You didn’t know him, yet there you were reminding him how to breathe, your eyes never being taken away from his face, your voice steady even though he knew you were tired. 

Bucky didn’t feel the tears stream down his cheeks, he didn’t catch the sobs escaping him. He was too worried wondering why he was getting things he didn’t deserve to realize he so desperately longed for being worthy of said things. 

You, on the other hand, were unsure as to what to do. You didn’t know what made him feel better nor how to comfort him. The best idea you had was granting him privacy while you brewed some tea. You had observed he avoided coffee, probably to also avoid what you had just witnessed. 

The thought of calling Sam to ask what to do crossed your mind. You discarded it because it clearly had been something too personal and you didn’t know if James would feel comfortable with his friend knowing. The tea was ready rather quickly, it didn’t really give you time to find a proper thing to do or say to help him— it wasn’t time for questions.

Truly hoping he wouldn’t feel judged or ashamed, you carried a tray back to the library. The fact that his panic attack had taken place there only heightened your worry, the library seemed to be his safe place in the household and you had been comfortable with him spending most of his time there just because of that. 

You put the tray down on the coffee table slowly, trying not to make too much noise. He was staring at you, his eyes now more red than earlier, with a handkerchief in hand. 

“It’s peppermint,” you let him know, voice soft. “Do you want some sugar?”

“Please, one.”

You silently prepared his cup first, allowing him to take it himself once the sugar had properly dissolved in the hot beverage. Nothing else was said that afternoon, there would be time if needed. At that moment what both of you needed was peace, something he too seemed to think by the way he simply sipped his tea and slumped onto the chair. 

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

It all came to light in the middle of one night. You were in the kitchen, preparing some coffee, when Bucky stopped in his tracks at finding you there. He had avoided you at all costs for the past three days, something you tried not to take the wrong way when you two didn’t really speak much. 

You left some coffee for him in case he wanted a mug and wished him a good night as you retrieved yourself back to the laboratory. He watched you go, staring at the spot you had been standing in for a little too long. 

He filled a mug with the coffee you left for him, hurrying to follow you downstairs. You were already inside to which he had to punch in the code. Surprised by the fact you had given him the actual code to enter the laboratory, he stepped in with hesitance. 

He felt alone, the guilt had turned to anger as the days passed. He could’ve spoken to Sam, but telling him what was going on would mean hearing the same as always— that it wasn’t his fault, that he needed to be kinder to himself. 

You were surprised by his presence, yet you didn’t mention anything about it. You let him have the first word, get comfortable, anything he wanted honestly. 

Bucky just watched you for a while, drinking his coffee while you worked. It wasn’t the first time he was in the lab, but it was the first he saw how you worked. It was so different from what he had experienced in The Compound where the only people to ever use the lab anymore were Bruce and Peter, this felt personal. He could tell it was important for you although he didn’t know what it was you were working on— you never told him much about anything, he had stupidly never asked either.

“Will you...” he rasped, clearing his throat before continuing, “will you continue with Stark Expo?”

Pepper had asked you the same, and you had told her you would need to carefully plan it just to not make her feel bad. “I don’t know,” you confessed to James, for some reason thinking he wouldn’t judge you. “Should I?”

It was his time to be surprised, not expecting his opinion to be asked, not by you. He considered it, torn between it being a good idea and the memory of having attended one back in the day. “Only if you want to.”

“I’m not at the level the Expo needs. Maybe Harley and Peter are, but me? I’m trying to fix the antibiotic crisis when Howard many years ago had a prototype for a fucking flying car which by the way does still exist!”

“It failed.” At the confusion clear on your face, Bucky explained, “the prototype of the car, it failed at the expo. No one really cared.”

You nodded and nothing else, it dawning on you that he had been there. Tension filled the room, the thickest it had since you met him. He stared at you, waiting for you to say anything, while you avoided looking at him at every cost. 

“It’s messed up, I know,” he said bitterly, “me telling you I attended your grandfather’s expo only to kill him years later.”

At that, your head snapped in his direction. “We’ve talked about that, James.”

“It doesn’t change it, (y/n), you’re living with the person that killed your grandparents and beat up your dad.”

You swallowed harshly, the image of a beaten up Tony stumbling into The Compound crashing over you. You sighed deeply, “I wish you could’ve truly met him.”

“Who?” he lightly tilted his head to the side in confusion. 

“My dad.” You made a motion with your hand so he’d take a seat. He complied. “I know everything that happened in Siberia, and I know how much it affected him.” James looked down, your hand immediately flying to be placed on his knee, an attempt to comfort him that you knew not always worked— you wanted it to work, though, desperately for whatever reason. “Not giving you a chance affected him too,” you added, “he would’ve sat down with you and talked about it if he had had the time. I’m sure of it.”

“He shouldn’t have,” his voice shook, “I made him an orphan.”

“HYDRA did.” 

He stayed quiet, in part because it was true but most importantly because you looked like you wanted to say something else. 

“Howard was irresponsible in general, and...” you scoffed, “I don’t have very good opinions of him, Maria sounded like she was a great person who tried her best and he put her in danger by carrying a super serum widely coveted by many people while on a trip with her. He was an awful father too...” he placed his flesh hand on top of yours, encouraging you to continue speaking if you wanted. There were clearly many things he didn’t know about everything, and a few times Sam had told him that wasn’t okay when it came to his wife. “My dad was put through a lot by Howard, things that haunted him until the day he... sacrificed himself. I struggle to feel empathy for him, I understand why you feel guilty and why it was wrong— yet I think a lot of things would’ve been better if he was a better person.”

“I feel terrible,” he openly spoke, “I think I always will feel like that and sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. I see your dad’s face sometimes, his reaction...”

“You both were victims, directly at least.”

“Do you wish you had met your grandparents?” he asked after a few seconds of silence. He had wondered about that since he met you, since you defended him by claiming he had been a victim of HYDRA in front of Ross.

You shrugged, “Howard would have probably hated me for being a woman, or for not being the daughter of a marriage.” He opened his mouth, but you spoke before he could, “if they hadn’t sent you, they would’ve sent someone else. I hope you understand that.”

“I know.” He exhaled, his heart beating fast. Bucky was scared of what would come next, thinking you’d say something else. 

You didn’t, you just stared back at him like he was doing at you. If you knew him, even a little, you would be aware of what to say, what to do. It was your time to feel guilty for not trying in months. 

After asking the AI Tony had designed just for you to make a copy of your progress and save it, you nodded upward. He took the hint, the warmth of his hand leaving the back of yours as he retired it before standing up. 

The two of you talked until sunrise about inane topics, just to pass the time as a pair of friends would. You weren’t ready, for whatever reason, to speak about more personal subjects. And it was okay. 

Learning you didn’t blame him at all for your grandparents' death, not even around the date he had murdered them, took a huge weight off Bucky’s shoulders. It also lessened the tension between the two of you.

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

Sam’s teasing had Bucky considering murder. He regretted telling his friend about how worried he was about you because Wilson couldn’t stop asking suggestive things.

He had asked Sam for advice as soon as he arrived at The Compound because he thought his friend wouldn’t find his worry weird. The truth was that Bucky was a little more than worried, he was considering finally asking you why you were so tense all the time— well, not all the time but very frequently. He was now mad at himself for not going to Carol, she wouldn’t have teased him, nor given him tips— although Bucky had to be honest with himself and accept he’d welcome Carol’s insight over Sam’s when it came to you. Sam always spoke as if you were romantically interested in him, something Bucky didn’t think could be possible. 

The truth was that when his therapist told him the marriage would be an opportunity for him to have a sense of normalcy he started to see it as something positive. But his view of it changed when he met Harley who had reacted weirdly to the news of the engagement. He didn’t stand a chance against someone closer to your age, someone you truly knew, someone you mentioned in almost every conversation.

He had hoped a mission would come up before the weekend, not because he didn’t want to spend time with you but because he didn’t want anything to feel awkward. You had mentioned wanting to continue your dad’s tradition of visiting shelters and making sure they had everything to provide good wintertime and overall holidays for the people who saw themselves having to spend those days there and while Bucky thought it was a great idea, in his opinion you needed distressing first.

When he said goodbye to everyone at The Compound he received more teasing comments and looks, annoying him to no end. The main reason for his annoyance was that for any other person a weekend of volunteering with their spouse would mean an amazing time with their loved one, he wished he could have that. He wished that for a moment he could simply be a married man giving his best to his partner, but it couldn’t be that easy, not for him. 

You stared at him while he helped you to wrap gifts, truly analyzing his features. Only an extremely stubborn person would say James was ugly, and although you had always been stubborn that was too much even for your standards. It was almost painful, being married to someone as attractive as him only by luck. 

The carefulness you had to have while planning the wedding so no one would find out it was an arranged marriage had been exhausting. You had panicked just by imagining how the world would react if they knew the truth. You could hear them laughing at you because the only way you were getting married was through an arrangement, you could read the think pieces using you as an example to motivate women to lose weight to avoid being in a loveless relationship instead of encouraging them to love and accept themselves first. 

Pepper sat you down one afternoon while Happy took Morgan out for ice-cream and told you to try and see him with romantic eyes for your mental and emotional sake. She meant well, you knew, the problem was that developing feelings for someone you didn’t know was never a good idea and it sounded even worse when said person wouldn’t have been close to you in any other instance. 

James was so careful while wrapping, he clearly wanted everything to look perfect. He had started humming an old song, probably without even realizing it, and you were honestly relishing on the melody. You let him be, wrapping at your pace which was much more slower than his. 

You were so worried about the gifts not looking like they did when your dad delivered them that you would spend an absurd amount of time in each. The memory of those afternoons when he gathered Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, and you to help him was painful. You wondered how it would be like to have him there at that moment, if he’d hum along with James, if he’d make you two dance in the middle of the living room, if he’d scold you for not decorating the house. You supposed he would, you liked to think he’d be happy to spend time of quality with James— you were scared of it being wishful thinking, but you knew Tony better than anyone and he would’ve understood James in ways you never would be able to.

“(Y/n),” he called for you, making you crane your neck to look at him. “Is something bothering you?”

You shook your head, “why?” your voice hoarse. 

He put the ribbon in his grasp down, his worried eyes never leaving your face. Slowly, he extended said hand, his flesh one, his palm landed softly on the side of your face and his thumb brushed your skin. “You’re crying, doll,” he explained in a soft tone. The pet name slipped, but he didn’t care. 

You looked down, ashamed of not having realized you were crying. His touch was firmer now, your face instinctively leaning into it. That made it worse, you didn’t remember the last time someone had touched you— now that you didn’t live with Morgan you didn’t get her daily hugs nor kisses, now you didn’t have Pepper to hold your hand when you had a bad day, you didn’t have Happy who would let you rant to him, and you didn’t have Tony who was such a loving dad that he’d do all of those if needed. You were fully sobbing, and your husband was simply letting you do it. 

Bucky wasn’t sure of how to comfort you, but he couldn’t take it. Injustices had always bothered him, all of them, made his blood boil. He found your suffering one of the most painful injustices he had ever witnessed. It truly made his heart clench, watching you in that state. The helplessness it brought him was inexplicable, he felt the need of protecting you, of making it right. His metal index was softly placed under your chin once your sobs simmered down, trying to gain your attention. It took you a moment to be able to look at him, sight clouded by tears. 

“I’ll bring you some—“ he didn’t finish his sentence when you shook your head against his hand. “You don’t want Kleenex?”

You didn’t want the warmth of his palm to be absent and you weren’t sure of how to explain that to him without weirding him out. “Just... wait a little.”

Bucky nodded, not fully understanding but open to give you whatever you needed. He couldn’t help but think about Steve at that moment, how his friend had such a soft spot for Tony. He had never been able to grasp the depth of their connection, but he felt that he was close now that he had spent some time with you. In a way, he was experiencing raw feelings for the first time in decades, and it was so curious how his experience mirrored the one of his best friend and how a Stark was at responsibility. 

“Why don’t we take a break?” he offered, “you need some rest, and I wouldn’t say no to a cup of hot chocolate.”

You shook your head again. It was too soon, you had a lot of things to do still, tons of gifts to wrap. You felt like a child, torn between wanting to abandon everything and to cry. Your bottom lip trembled, his metal hand landed delicately on your other cheek— he cradled your face, brow furrowed as he gazed at you. 

“Tell me what to do,” he begged. It was truly tearing him apart, he could take the guilt of everything he had done under HYDRA’s control but he would never be able to live knowing he hadn’t been there for you. It was a discovery that he had to put to the side for a moment, it wasn’t the time to lose himself in his own mind to try and decipher what he was feeling.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “I’m just so... so tired, James.” Sniffing, you blinked rapidly so the tears brimming your eyes would fall and let you look at him, “I’m sad, I miss my dad, I feel alone...”

He pulled you in, allowing you to cry on his chest. He was unsure of what else he could really do, he of course wondered if it was his fault that you felt alone but it wasn’t as relevant when it had already happened. Sam always told him to focus on what was going on in the moment so he could make better decisions in the future and this was the first time Bucky fully understood what his friend meant by that. 

Your arms wrapped around him, surprising him. You were a little shocked when he didn’t flinch nor stiffen in your arms, positively shocked. It was a relief, hugging something that wasn’t a pillow for the first time in weeks. He hugged you back, tightly, making you cry even harder. Bucky curled around you, the side of his face falling on top of your head. 

Once your crying had ceased, none of you said anything for a while, there was no need. He continued holding you, you unconsciously started rubbing his back. He sighed against your hair, giving you goosebumps.

You turned your head, your cheek pressing against the now wet material of his sweatshirt. “Do you still want that hot chocolate?”

He hummed, still not letting you go. 

Bucky didn’t think he’d see you under so much stress after that day, he was making efforts to make you feel less lonely and getting to know you in the process. He’d ask about your projects, and your day, and your tastes— he’d also tell you the things he knew about himself and had even discovered a few while talking to you. 

In his opinion, things were going better between you two. The weekend of volunteering had been amazing, he had feared some kind of rejection or nasty looks but he had only received welcoming comments and thankfulness for being an avenger. You seemed happy with that, something that warmed his heart. He was still coming to terms with his newfound emotions, but he wasn’t in a hurry. 

Typing the code to the lab in, his eyes widened as soon as he entered. Your desk was a mess full of papers and mugs, you were sat on the floor with your legs intertwined and even more papers scattered around you. You looked up to see if he needed something and he saw the bags under your eyes even from afar. 

“I just wanted to check up on you,” he explained himself although he didn’t have to. 

You nodded your head and went back to the papers around you, putting your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Did you sleep last night?”

“No.”

He sighed. You two had made a compromise of being more careful with your sleep schedules and actually getting your insomnia treated. “Why not?”

His question was everything you needed to let it all out. “Stark Industries’ Christmas Party is in less than a week, I need to finish this project before that day because after that the whole staff is on holiday break and Pepper says I need to be more involved, I have been trying to build a gift for Morgan but I’m very bad at that, press is all over me for not decorating the house for Christmas and I feel like I’m going insane.”

Bucky blinked at light speed, trying to catch every word you said. He had never heard you speak without pauses and when everything you told him dawned on him, he approached you. Squatting down, he carefully piled the papers around you up and placed them on the unoccupied chair. “Come, take a break.”

“I can’t, Bucky,” both of you stared at each other in surprise. It was the first time you called him by his nickname. You didn’t know how to feel about it, but he was thrilled. He enjoyed the tone of your voice when you said it, even if at that moment you were too tired and the words came slightly slurred. 

“You can,” he insisted before you could say anything else. “I promise I’ll help you with everything once you get at least some food in your stomach.”

You continued staring at him. Bucky stood on his feet, offering his hand to help you up. You ignored the gesture, used to doing it just that so the other person wouldn’t say anything about you being too heavy. It took you a little bit of effort to stand up, not because you were too out of shape but because you were extremely dizzy. 

He put his hand on your back to steady you, guiding you directly toward your bedroom. Confused, you sat down on the bed. Bucky took his cellphone out and asked if you were craving something in specific. When you said you weren’t, he surprised you for God knows which time in the past week by saying he’d order your favorite. 

He didn’t let you take a shower until you showed signs of being able to stand on your feet and even then he offered to help you. Bucky didn’t realize how the comment would come out until the words had slid past his lips, but you didn’t seem to mind— you were probably too tired to mind them. Still, you didn’t accept his help. 

The idea of tiptoeing around your own house like you used to do as a child gave you a specific type of thrill. You were aware of having promised your husband you would get more sleep every week, but you were so stressed out that you couldn’t conceive it. Your time would be better spent in the lab, continuing working, than tossing over the bed every five minutes. 

Blue eyes glowered at you, prompting you to hold onto the doorknob to steady yourself out of how abruptly you had stopped. Bucky crossed his arms, his body blocking your way to the hallway. “Why are you awake?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Making sure you don’t kill yourself out of exhaustion.”

You sighed, starting to get slightly annoyed. “I’ve had a shitty week. Can I please just go and finish—“

“No,” he nodded upward, “get some rest, I already promised I’ll help you. Tomorrow.”

“I can’t sleep,” you said, defeated. He stood silent, eyes now avoiding yours as he seemingly tried to find a solution. 

“Try again, please.” 

You glared at him but he ignored you, not moving an inch. Even more defeated now, you walked back into your bedroom. Bucky stared at you, seeing you sit down on the bed with your back against the headboard. 

“You can come in if you want,” you told him, not really wanting him to go. 

Bucky uncrossed his arms before stepping in. He closed the door like he had observed you liked it to be and took a seat on the chair from your vanity, not taking his eyes off you. 

For a few minutes, the only thing you did was stare back at him, not sure as to what to say. He wanted you to sleep, and to be fair you wanted to sleep too but you were so tired that you couldn’t. 

The room was getting colder which lead you to cover your legs with the duvet. You wondered if you should ask him if he was cold, then realized it could come out as you thinking he didn’t feel things in a normal way. God, you sometimes hated that about you. 

Patting the bed beside you as you still looked at him, you hoped he wouldn’t take it the wrong way or stand up and leave for that matter. His eyes moved toward your hand as if to make sure he had understood correctly. 

Very slowly, he approached the edge of the bed. You followed his movements with your eyes, your stomach flipping as he got closer. Bucky kicked his shoes off, deciding he wouldn’t say no to have some company and be warm at the same time. He sat in the same position you were, leaving enough space between both of you to not make you feel uncomfortable. 

You took the freedom of covering his legs with the duvet, not really doing anything else. “Thank you,” he murmured. Your answer was a hum. 

From his peripheral view, he could see how tense you were. He hoped it wasn’t because of him, but decided not to ask in case it was— he wouldn’t take it well. 

Your hands were itching to touch him, to cling to him like the time you cried on his chest. It scared you sometimes, realizing how easily your feelings toward him were blossoming; Pepper would be thrilled, you were terrified. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own— or maybe not and you just needed an excuse— and the gap between your bodies got narrower.

Bucky inhaled deeply, trying to keep himself from touching you and ultimately failing. Soon his arm was around your shoulders and your head against his pec. You snaked your arm around his waist, unintentionally pulling him as close as possible. 

The position made him grasp how stressed out you were, you looked comfortable and had even embraced him but still, he could feel your tense muscles under his arm. “Do you want to talk some more about your week?” he asked softly. 

“It was bad,” you deadpanned. “Just... really bad.”

His free arm wrapped around you too, his body slightly turning so both of you would be more comfortable— and warmer—. “When I was a kid and I couldn’t sleep, my mom used to sing to me. I would do that but I don’t want to ruin your earshot.”

You chuckled, hugging him tighter with now both arms too. “You’re doing enough. You’re very nice to me.”

“It’s the least you deserve.”

“And the most I deserve?” you asked jokingly. 

“The universe and more.” Bucky wished he could give it to you, he truly did. 

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

He had stupidly thought things were changing, that a month that had started so horrendously could become the best in his whole year. Bucky should’ve known better, should’ve known his place. 

He smiled at Morgan who was giving him a resume about the week she spent with Pepper’s parents. In the meantime you were talking with Harley and Peter, of course you were. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten about Harley for the past two weeks. He felt dumb for holding any kind of hope you would eventually feel the same way he did. 

Bucky didn’t even understand what you saw in Harley, there was nothing wrong with him but there wasn’t anything spectacular either. He didn’t consider himself a good prospect, but he had to give himself some credit and accept he had some qualities. Maybe you didn’t see them like that, maybe you wanted someone less serious, or more normal.

The entire car ride was silent. You didn’t think much of it because of the time, it was a little past midnight and Bucky was probably tired after everything you two did that day. The two of you had been invited to The Avengers’ Christmas celebration which had taken place in the afternoon so you woke up early, prepared what you would take to both celebrations you would attend, attended the first, went back home to pick up what you would need to take to Pepper’s house and went there. 

He didn’t wait for you to leave the car before unlocking the door which for you confirmed your suspicions of him being extremely tired. 

Closing the front door behind you, you put your purse down. “Is there something wrong?” you asked him, unwrapping the scarf from your neck. 

He glowered at you, his chest rising and falling shallowly. “Of course not.” Bucky stomped his way to the kitchen, not really able to keep himself from doing it. 

You followed him, the scarf still in your hand as you tried to find a hint of what his problem was. Bucky stood with his hands against the counter, looking down at the granite. He was trying his best to calm down, to rationalize with himself that it was better that way. 

He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head, your hand on Harley’s bicep and your melodic laugh as the idiot told a very annoying joke that wasn’t even funny. Not even Peter had laughed, for goodness sake! 

“Bucky?”

He clenched his jaw. Every time you said his nickname he felt his heart skip a beat. “What?”

You exhaled loudly, exasperated. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m tired.” 

“I should’ve listened to Harley when—“ Bucky’s groan interrupted you. Frowning, you put the scarf down. “Go to sleep if you want, I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

“That’s not it!” he turned his head to be able to see you. “I don’t care if you keep me up all fucking night.”

“What is the problem, then? You’re clearly... annoyed.”

He was more than annoyed. His stomach contents felt like burning lava and he was one more mention of Harley away from breathing fire. “I don’t know what’s going on between Keener and you, but it’s... annoying as you say.”

At first, you assumed you had heard him wrong. Replaying his words in your head a few times proved you otherwise. “There’s nothing going on between me and him. Why would you even think something similar to that?”

“You talk about him every day, for starters. And when you see him you’re very affectionate, and you laugh with him and at his jokes! And he hates me, why would he hate me if there’s nothing going on between you?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Harley is like my brother. He was there for me when dad got stranded in space, the five years Peter was missing. He made me company the first weeks after dad...” you cleared your throat to ease the lump forming in it, “you know what I mean.”

“I thought Peter was like your brother.”

“He is,” you clarified, “but it’s different. Harley isn’t a superhero, I didn’t meet him as one either. He’s been always just Harley— I never had that before.”

Bucky nodded. His eyes focused again on the granite. He felt slightly better to know Harley wasn’t his competence, but the thought made him feel sick at the same time. You were a person, and lost In his desire of being seen in another light by you he seemed to have forgotten. 

“I wouldn’t cheat on you, you know?” you whispered, a little uncomfortable with the topic. Coming to terms with having feelings for Bucky had meant coming to terms with the fact that they were one-sided and that meant that you had to avoid certain things like talking about feelings or sexuality in general. 

“It didn’t annoy me because of that.”

“Oh.” You felt stupid for even saying anything. “Okay.”

He pushed himself off the counter, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see your reaction. “I wish you spoke like that about me. That you didn’t see me as the guy you’re keeping away from jail and nothing else.” Bucky swallowed his spit, “I’d prefer being in jail now than continuing living like this, actually.”

His words were a punch to your gut. You weren’t sure if he meant what you understood or not. “I do speak about you,” you confessed, “not often because I don’t talk to many people but I do.” He pressed his lips together, the action prompting you to get closer. “Bucky, open your eyes. Please.”

His eyes fluttered open, already brimmed with tears. “Now what?” His voice was a little shaky, breath getting harsher. 

You offered your hands to him. He took your left one in his right, but you didn’t lower your right. He stared at it and then carefully took it in his metal one. “You’re more than the guy I’m keeping away from jail,” you assured him. “You’re the person I live with, sure, but that doesn’t define you. You’re the most patient person I’ve met, an avenger, the guy who loves maths and history even though they’re a weird combination— you’re pretty smart now that we’re at it... you’re very strong in every capacity, and so kind one would think you’ve never experienced hardships. I admire that, a lot.” It was amazing how in some ways he reminded you about Tony, only cementing the idea of how easily the two of them would’ve gotten along if they had had time. 

He let the tears fall down his cheeks, his hand gripping yours to make sure he hadn’t imagined your words. You intertwined your fingers with his metal ones, gripping said hand tightly while he with his flesh one gripped your other one. You continued speaking, your voice becoming smaller as words you didn’t want to muster slid past your lips, “I’ll see what I can do so we can get a divorce without you going to jail.”

He shook his head effusively, his crying getting louder. “P—please don’t.”

“Bucky, you don’t want to continue living like this, you said it yourself.”

“When I say like this I mean—“ he sniffed, “as we do. Like... I—“ Bucky was afraid of saying it, of the rejection that would come with it. “I want you to see me as your husband. Well, like your actual husband and not the person you’re legally tied to. I thought you were starting to do it when we fell asleep together.”

You let his words sink in completely, a relieved exhale escaping you when you fully grasped their meaning. “I do see you as my husband, I didn’t think you were interested in seeing me as your wife.”

Bucky dropped your hands in order to hug you so effusively that he lifted you off the ground. Upon realizing that, instead of putting you down he spun you around as couples did in movies— it was cheesy and he loved it, he loved to know it was okay for him to do that; that he could now feel romantic enough to want to have those kinds of gestures. You were shocked, being a bigger woman meant never being carried by anyone and of course when you were a teenager you had dreamed of someone once being strong enough to do it. 

Both of you giggled as the spinning slowed down, your arms now around his neck out of instinct. He gazed at you with a smile on his face, it fully reaching his eyes. He had never looked more handsome than at that moment, happiness suited James Buchanan Barnes like no other thing in the world. 

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” you blurted, heat crawling up your neck as you processed your own words. 

He did kiss you, soft lips caressed yours as his embrace tightened around your thick middle. You kissed back, a hand sliding into his hair. Your legs ended up being wrapped around him, his hands supporting your back while he deepened the kiss. 

Biting his bottom lip, you pulled on it. He groaned which soon became a whine when your lips completely parted from his. You needed to catch your breath, something that he didn’t seem to really struggle with, you supposed it had to do with the super-soldier serum. Your fingers didn’t stop caressing his hair, just like his lips didn’t stop making contact with your face— he kissed every inch of it, not able to help himself and smiling on your skin. 

He breathed a laugh, “I’m getting sleepy now.”

You snorted, “put me down, then.”

Bucky didn’t like that idea. Instead, he shifted you to be sure you were securely around and against him. “Did you lock the front door?”

“I did.”

Humming, he walked out of the kitchen with you in his arms. One of the thousands perks of having StarkTech in the house was the intuitive lighting which he found life-saving because he tended to forget to turn off the lights— and now because he could leave rooms with you in his arms without worrying about it. You didn’t fight him on it, instead, you enjoyed being carrying around and rested your cheek on his shoulder. 

Bucky stopped at the last step. “Your room or mine?”

“Whichever you like more,” you answered, realizing you would probably sleep in the same bed again. 

“Yours smells like you,” he pointed out. 

“Sleep there and I’ll sleep in yours,” you joked.

He grunted, walking toward your room. “I’ll be there, you can take a whiff off me.” You burst out laughing at his choice of words, choking on said laugh when his hand left your back in order to open the door. He laughed too, “I won’t drop you.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He smirked to himself, kicking the door shut once inside the room. You unwrapped your arms from around his neck, your legs slowly sliding off due to you thinking he’d put you down already. Bucky saw it as a good opportunity to drop you onto the bed, his lyrical laugh filling the room at your squealing. 

Immediately, he hovered over you, his eyes still crinkled from laughing and lips in search of yours. You kissed him briefly, one of your palms resting on his chest to put some distance, “I need to change my clothes before one of us falls asleep,” you explained the gesture before he could even think anything about it. 

It didn’t take you long to get changed. Too eager to once again sleep in Bucky’s arms, you were ready in record time. He didn’t bother to go get changed, he always slept in boxers and an undershirt and assumed it was okay for him to do so with you too. 

Both of you sighed contently when he wrapped his arms around you under the covers, his fingers skimming your tummy as he sighed against your neck. 

“Aren’t you cold?” You inquired, worried he’d get sick by not sleeping in the proper clothes. 

“No,” he kissed the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “You’re keeping me warm.”

Humming, you placed your palm on his bicep before asking the AI to turn the lights off. In any other moment you would have been terrified of someone touching you, feeling the softness of your body without more in between than a piece of cotton, or the irregular parts of it. But this moment, it was different, there could be thousands of reasons why but probably the most important one was the fact that Bucky was becoming home too.


End file.
